


i'll take my heart clean apart if it helps yours beat

by mickeysdean



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Caring Ian Gallagher, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:27:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29055141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeysdean/pseuds/mickeysdean
Summary: Ian can be mean.He can be rude and uncaring and a bit insensitive sometimes.But not if he loves you. Not if you’re family.-Or, 5 times Ian takes care of the people he loves and 1 time someone takes care of him.
Relationships: Fiona Gallagher & Ian Gallagher, Ian Gallagher & Lip Gallagher, Ian Gallagher & Mandy Milkovich, Ian Gallagher & Yevgeny Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 23
Kudos: 178





	i'll take my heart clean apart if it helps yours beat

_no, i don't want to talk about myself_

_tell me where it hurts_

_i just want to build you up, build you up_

_til you're good as new_

_and maybe one day i will get around to fixing myself too_

Ian can be mean. 

He can be rude and uncaring and a bit insensitive sometimes. 

But not if he loves you. Not if you’re family. 

If you’re family, Ian is selfless. Ian puts your needs above his own over and over until he falls, and then he gets back up and does it some more. 

Fiona runs the house. She makes sure the bills are paid and the kids are fed. She sets the rules. She visits teachers and principals, and she kisses foreheads every night before bed. 

Lip raises the kids. He’s a big brother, but just a bit more. He helps Debbie with her homework, changes Liam’s diapers and keeps Carl sane. 

Ian takes care of everyone. He checks on Lip when he storms in the house stumbling and angry. He makes Fiona a coffee if he hears her crying in the kitchen, alone after another day of working hard for nearly nothing. He knows Debbie’s favourite movie, keeps it on hand in case she has a bad day, even. He gives Carl his knives, his throwing stars, his gear. He shows him how to use it. He colours with Liam, and kisses his forehead and just loves, loves, _loves._

_**Fiona** _

Fiona works harder than anyone Ian knows. And, sure, you could argue that at fourteen he doesn’t know _that_ many people, but he knows there’s no one that works harder than his big sister. 

She works three jobs, and she packs their lunches every morning, and is still somehow up with Liam every time he cries at night. 

Ian knows Fiona only really expects him to go to school and babysit the kids every once and a while, but he wants to _help._ He wants to do more than just keep his grades above an F and change a diaper or two a day. Lip doesn’t have a job, but he tutors and does assignments for money, and he adds to the squirrel fund.

It’s September already, and the squirrel fund still looks almost entirely empty, and Ian wants to help. He can’t tutor people, and he’s not tough enough to scam people and get away with it, _yet_ (he’s starting ROTC next week, he’ll get there soon), so he does what he can. He gets a job. 

He goes down to the Kash ‘n’ Grab and he talks to Linda, begs her really. Argues that she’d have more time with her kids if they had another worker, and he doesn’t even need to be payed _that_ much, he just needs _something._

He gets the job and starts the next day. He’s training with Kash, but Linda says he’ll be working his own shifts soon enough, and he doesn’t mind. Well, he doesn’t mind it in theory. He doesn’t really like how Kash looks at him, but he doesn’t say anything because Kash is supposed to be married and Ian really wants to keep this job. 

The first Friday after he’s hired, he jogs home, excited to finally take care of Fiona for once, instead of the other way around. He races through the back door and reaches up on his toes to grab the squirrel fund from the back of the cupboard, wishing for his next growth spurt. 

“You steal that?” Fiona asks from behind him, and Ian jumps. When he turns around Fiona is leaning against the kitchen table, arms crossed over her chest and the “disappointed mom” glare she’s perfected on her face. 

“No,” Ian says, chin held high. “I got a job. To help out. The squirrel fund is practically empty this year.” 

“I didn’t ask you to do that, Ian,” Fiona sighs, walking over to take his paycheck from his hand. Her eyebrows raise up a bit when she sees the amount, and despite her words, she adds it to the squirrel fund. 

“Well, I did it anyways. You’re not the only one that can take care of us, Fi. I’m old enough to help.”

And since Fiona knows him, she knows _exactly_ how stubborn he is, and she knows he won’t give up on this. She relents, ruffling his hair and talking over him when he squawks indignantly, says, “Wanna help me make dinner then, sweetface?”

_**Mandy** _

He stands across from Mandy in the living room of the fucking horror movie she lives in. His gut churns at the thought of what Terry did to her and he wants to throw up, but she says not to pity her, so he swallows it back. Swallows back every _I’m sorry_ and _Let me bring you to my place_ and _I hate him I hate him I hate him._ He swallows all it back and does the only thing he knows how to do: he takes care of her. 

“You’d do that for me?” she asks, scared and quiet and a little bit broken.

“Of course,” he says, smiling, “You’re my girlfriend.”

_Of course,_ he says, because he loves her. 

_Of course,_ he says, because she’s his responsibility 

_Of course,_ he says, because she’s his best friend.

She launches towards him, arms around his neck, and he holds her back tighter than ever, buries his nose in her hair and just holds on. 

Ian knows Mandy has never had someone to take care of her before. He _knows_ he was the first person to treat her kindly, to compliment her meaningfully, to hold her hand without expecting anything else. 

But he also knows Mandy doesn’t _need_ to be taken care of. She doesn’t need someone to walk her through life, or give her charity, or defend her honour. She’s strong that way, like Fiona, and she can take care of herself. But she’s got no one else on her team, with Mickey back in juvie. So, Ian steps in. She’s his best friend; he’d do _anything_ for her. 

He gets Carl, and Debbie, and Fiona, and even Monica and he asks for their help. They spend the day baking and making signs and handing out flyers. He doesn’t even have to think about it. Mandy needs help. She’s his best friend, and she needs help. What’s there to think about? 

And three days later, when everything is said and done, Mandy comes over with her good weed and a giant bag of gummy worms. They sit in the old, rusted van in the Gallagher backyard, and get high and throw candy into each other’s mouths. They talk about Monica, and the shitstorm she brings with her, and Terry, and the even bigger shitstorm he brings with him. And they hold hands across the seats and smile and laugh until their ribs ache. 

And that’s all he needs, really. He doesn’t need a thank you, or a handout or any kind of retribution. He just wants to be with her, smiling and laughing and having the time of their fucking lives together. 

_**Yevgeny** _

Ian’s not stupid. Despite how he acted, he understands why Mickey had to marry Svetlana. He understands why it’s so hard for Mickey to look at his own kid. His own kid that he never wanted. With a woman he didn’t care about, a woman that only reminds him of what Ian assumes is the worst day of his life.

But still, Svetlana insists Mickey helps. Mickey won’t help, _can’t_ help, so Ian does it for him. 

It’s not that hard, really, for Ian. He’s always loved kids, babies especially, and this isn’t just any kid. It’s _Mickey’s_ kid. The few whisps of hair on Yev’s head might be the blondest he’s ever seen, the complete opposite of Mickey’s dark head of hair, but his eyes are Mickey’s. Ian loves him, he can’t help it. 

Ian can hear the baby crying from where he lays in his crib in the living room, and he sighs as he rolls back, away from the warmth of Mickey’s body, and stands to head towards the sound. 

“Hey, buddy,” he says, softly, rubbing a hand on the baby’s stomach. “You hungry?”

Yev doesn’t answer, predictably, but he babbles and reaches his little arms up towards Ian and Ian takes the hint. He lifts him up, and holds him up to his chest, Yev’s cheek squishing against Ian’s shoulder. 

He goes to the kitchen, opens the fridge, pulls out one of the bottles Svet has filled already. He unscrews the lid, struggling a bit with the baby in his arms, and pops it into the microwave. He tests it on his own wrist before placing Yev in the highchair they got from Fiona and handing him his bottle. 

He starts a pot of coffee for himself and for Mickey as Yev drinks, pours out two mugs once it’s finished percolating. He’ll bring Mickey his in a minute. He drinks, even though he doesn’t need it, hasn’t needed it in months. He likes the taste. 

Once Yev has finished as much as Ian knows he will, he brings him over to the living room and gives him some toys. 

“Gimme a minute, Yev,” he murmurs, even though he knows the baby doesn’t understand. He kisses his forehead and stands back up. “Be right back.” 

He brings the second mug to Mickey, rubs a hand down his back, waking his boyfriend just enough for him to realize there’s coffee waiting for him. He kisses Mickey’s forehead too, before he heads back out to keep taking care of Yev. 

He won’t push Mickey to join them in the living room. He knows Mickey will come out if he wants to, but it’s okay if he doesn’t. 

Ian knows Mickey can’t take care of the baby that reminds him of his father. But to Ian, Yev is all Mickey. He’ll take care of him if Mickey can’t. 

_**Lip** _

Lip might think that as his older brother, it’s _his_ job to take care of Ian, but he’d be wrong. Ian takes care of him too. He always has. 

Ian’s just gotten off a double, and he’s that bone-deep kind of tired as he sits on the couch and eats cold leftovers. But then Lip stumbles through the front door, just like he has every day for the past few weeks.

“Jesus, Lip, you smell like fucking Frank,” he says, but when Lip looks up at him, Ian sobers. “Hey, you good, man?”

Lip’s head drops back between his shoulders and he says, “Fuck if I know.” 

Ian groans as he pushes himself up off the couch, nodding his head towards the kitchen so Lip will follow him. He starts a pot of coffee in hopes of sobering Lip up, but also because he realizes he needs to be as awake as he can be for this conversion. 

Lip sways uneasily on his way to the kitchen stools and he yanks one out roughly before collapsing down onto it. 

“Rough night?” Ian asks, deadpan. Lip only nods in response. “I thought this was what rehab was supposed to prevent, huh?” He grabs the now full coffee pot and pours it into two mugs, nearly burning his hand on the hot ceramic as he passes it to Lip, handle side out. 

Lip takes the offered mug and sips at it before replying, “Apparently rehab is the scam I always thought it was.” 

Ian hates this. He hates this _so much._ He still means what he’d said last week at Lip’s school-board hearing: _Lip is not supposed to be stuck in the ghetto._ He’s always known it, but he thinks Lip got lost somewhere along the way. Lip’s never wanted to be the golden goose, but he still deserves to get out. Even without school, Ian knows he can make it. Ian’s just got to stop him from going off the deep end, Frank-style, first. 

“Lip,” he sighs, preparing for an outburst, “You can’t keep up like this, man. Everyone’s worried about you. Debbie’s freaking out, _I’m_ freaking out.”

Lip doesn’t respond, so Ian keeps going. He knows what he’s about to say is a dick move, but generally those work better on Lip than any gentle encouragement. 

“Thought you fucking hated Frank, yet here you are acting just like him.”

That gets him the rise he knew it would, Lip shaking his head, anger playing out across his face. “Fuck you, Ian,” he says, “You don’t know shit.” 

Ian sighs, fills up a glass of water, and leaves it in front of Lip. 

“Alright, fine, but finish your fucking coffee and drink some water before bed. I’m not gonna be the one explaining to Liam why you’re passed out in the upstairs hallway tomorrow morning.” Ian leaves up the stairs, hoping what he said is enough to get through to Lip. 

The guilt churns in Ian’s gut for the next few weeks, feeling like fucking shit for hitting Lip when he’s down, but when he comes home a few weeks later and Lip is sitting at the kitchen table with a mug instead of a bottle, he smiles. 

_**Mickey** _

_It means we take care of each other,_ Mickey had said once, hands shaking from the cold and the fear. 

_It means we take care of each other,_ Mickey had said, back when Ian had felt like he was helpless. Like he was stuck being taken care of for the rest of his life, unable to help anyone else because he was so fucking buried in the shitshow that was his own mind. 

But that was years ago, and they’re married now. Ian’s _okay_ now. And okay, yeah, sometimes Mickey still has to take care of him. Has to bring him his meds when he’s feeling down or talk him into going to the clinic when he runs so hard that his legs nearly give out and his mind is _still_ running faster. But they’re married now, and that’s his job too. 

And Ian takes care of Mickey, too. He makes his coffee and toast in the morning and worries about money and makes sure Mickey doesn’t drink too much at Gallagher pop-up parties. He calms Mickey down when he wakes up, shaking out of his skin, and he keeps him from getting into too many fights. 

So, when Mickey wakes up with his throat raw and painful and his head burning up, Ian takes care of him. 

Logically, Ian knows what to do when someone is sick. He’s taken care of Debbie, and Carl, and Liam plenty of times. He’s held Debbie’s hair back as she threw up, brought her a glass of water to calm her stomach. He’s forced cherry flavoured Tylenol down Carl’s throat during a particularly high fever, left a cold washcloth on his forehead in hopes of bringing his temperature down faster. He’s wiped Liam’s runny nose and showed him how to cough into his elbow to keep his germs to himself. He did all of that without anyone’s help. But this is _Mickey_ and he’s worried about him. So, he calls Fiona, just to be safe. 

She tells him stuff he already knows, of course, but he feels better now that he’s confirmed how to help. Mickey’s spent years taking care of him when he was sick, although it was a different type of sickness, per say, but he’s done it well, and Ian doesn’t want to let him down. 

“Fuck off,” Mickey grumbles, face buried in the pillow on Ian’s side of the bed, when Ian brings him a second glass of orange juice and something for the headache and sore throat Ian can tell he’s nursing. 

But when Ian turns the lights off and crawls into the empty space left on the bed, Mickey turns to him and holds on, his fevered skin burning straight through Ian’s t-shirt. 

“Mick, you’re fucking burning up,” he sighs, rolling his eyes at Mickey’s stubbornness. “Take the Tylenol and get over it.” 

Mickey rubs his eyes against Ian’s shoulder and groans as he sits up, barely reaching for the pills and juice Ian left on the edge of his bedside table. He swallows them down and drinks a bit more of the orange juice to appease Ian, before flopping back down almost entirely on top of him. 

“You need anything else, Mick?” Ian’s hand runs up and down his back, occasionally venturing up further to play with his hair, before trailing back down and repeating the process. Mickey relaxes under his hands, shoving his face in the space where Ian’s shoulder meets his neck, cheek resting on his collarbone. 

“Can you just fucking lay with me for a minute?” Ian can feel Mickey’s cheeks heat up even more, if that’s possible, and Ian’s heart beats just a bit harder in his chest.

“Yeah,” he says, tilting his head down to press his lips into Mickey’s forehead. It’s still burning up, but Ian doesn’t mind. He tucks his nose into Mickey’s hair and settles in for a nap. “Gonna get me fucking sick next, Mick.”

Mickey shrugs, barely, and brings a heavy arm up to pull himself closer to Ian’s warm body, his eyes closed.

“Love you,” Ian whispers into the top of Mickey’s head, smiling as Mickey’s breathing evens out. 

“Lu’ you too,” Mickey mumbles, practically asleep already. Ian smiles harder. 

_**Ian** _

Considering he’s so willing to help everyone else, Ian gets real bitchy when people try to take care of him. It used to be a pride thing, back when he was a kid, able to do two hundred push-ups every morning and run a six-minute mile, but now it’s something entirely different. Now, Ian feels like he’s never _not_ being taken care of. Now, Ian feels like a burden. 

That’s why when he catches whatever bug Mickey had not even two days after Mickey is back on his feet, he acts like he’s fine. He gets up before Mickey, swallows down his morning dose and some Tylenol, and takes a cold shower, trying desperately to lower his temperature. 

He’s standing in the kitchen pouring himself some coffee and swaying on the spot when Mickey comes down the stairs, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Morning,” Mickey smiles at the sight of his husband. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah, why?” Ian covers, hoping the shower and medication brought the fever down to something close to his normal temperature. He reaches for Mickey and kisses his forehead before handing him the coffee he originally poured for himself. 

“Cause you look half fucking dead, Ian,” Mickey puts the coffee down almost immediately, reaching for Ian’s face, who ducks out of his reach. “C’mere, shithead.”

He reaches again and catches Ian’s face between his hands. His face, which, to Ian’s dismay, is still burning up. Mickey frowns, eyebrows furrowing. He grabs Ian by the shoulders, steering him towards the stairs and giving him a gentle shove that sends Ian flailing more than it usually would. 

“Get back to bed, I’ll bring you breakfast.” 

“Mick, I’m fine,” Ian insists half-heartedly. He knows he’s been caught and there’s no convincing Mickey otherwise, but he figures he might as well try. 

Mickey rolls his eyes at him and pushes him towards the stairs again, and Ian goes, head between his shoulders as he sulks his way back to bed.

Ten minutes later, after Ian’s buried himself in Mickey’s hoodie and the blankets on their bed, Mickey comes back in, a plate in each hand. 

Ian pouts as he pushes himself up against the pillow and Mickey hands him a plate of eggs and toast. Mickey settles in next to him, letting Ian press up against his side as they eat. 

“Sorry,” Ian mumbles, when the plates are shoved to the side, and he’s back under the covers, head in Mickey’s lap while Mickey fucks around on his phone above him. 

“The fuck?” Mickey looks down at him, eyebrows halfway up his forehead, incredulous. 

“You’re always fucking taking care of me,” Ian mumbles, turning his face away. Knowing that Mickey wants to take care of him and actually believing it are two _very_ different things, in Ian’s opinion. “I’m sorry.”

“Ian,” Mickey sighs, putting his phone to the side and reaching for Ian’s face. “I’m not taking care of you anymore than you take care of me.”

Ian laughs bitterly. 

“You know that’s not true,” he says, shaking his head against Mickey’s leg. “It’s just—it’s gotta be fucking exhausting always having to deal with my shit.” 

“I really don’t know how to get it through that thick fucking skull of yours that it’s not. I love you; I want to take care of you, ‘cause it makes me feel shitty when you feel shitty.”

And _oh._ That makes sense. 

_Of course_ Mickey doesn’t want to see Ian hurting, just like Ian doesn’t want to see Mickey hurting. 

Ian pushes himself up so he’s face-to-face with Mickey, who’s eyes follow Ian’s every move, making sure he doesn’t try to leave the bed. 

“Thank you,” Ian says, sweetly, leaning over to kiss Mickey, a hand on his cheek. 

“Get your fucking germs away from me, man,” Mickey complains, shoving Ian back lightly, but he comes willingly when Ian pulls him back in. 

“They were your germs first.” But Ian’s smiling against Mickey’s mouth and he gets it now. He gets why others taking care of him isn’t any more of a burden than it is for him to take care of them.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the fic i mentioned at the end of "softer, softer", but as you can see it's taken me forever to finish lol 
> 
> i'd really appreciate any kudos/comments you want to share with me!! 
> 
> thanks for reading :)


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